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Oct. 27th, 2005 @ 11:27 pm
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If the boy across the hall does not cease playing rap music with his door open, I swear to all things holy I will blast Mahler so loudly the walls will shake.
Capite?
Sì, capisco. |
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Oct. 23rd, 2005 @ 11:26 pm
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My roommate just brought me hot apple cider.
I didn't ask her to, she had no obligation to do so.
She is just about the nicest, sweetest, most down-to-earth person I've met, and I love her in a completely non-romantic, non-Platonic (now that I actually know what Platonic love's really about I can't actually say I love someone Platonically because... um... no) way.
See, this was going to be another spewing-of-acid-from-the-lips-of-Tabi on the subject of people who pretend to be interested in you when they aren't really, but now I'm feeling all fluffy. If I was an animal, I'd be a little cartoon kitten, probably with little stars drawn in the place of my pupils.
I need to write more of The Alchemy of Flesh, because JRB is going to kill me. Or he's going to stare at me and raise his eyebrows in a way that does not quite suggest infinite disappointment yet encompasses it utterly, and that is infinitely worse than mere death.
All of this whole writing-thing would be much, much easier if I had an actual fell inside me. Sure, it'd burst out of my chest a la Alien after a month or so, but in the meantime I'd get unlimited creative energy.
Then again, if the fell were real, the Ascended Corpse would be real. I'm all for sadomasochistic goddesses, but I draw the line when decomposition is involved, and the Corpse lives up to her name. Plus she'd (rightfully) blame me for her torture-and-ascension, and then...bad things. Very bad things for the Tabi.
And somehow I doubt the Wirehands would intercede on my behalf. The Boneman or Edgewise maybe, but not Wirehands or Silwerire, and that is a Crying Shame, yes indeedy it is. (I will edit to add that this is mostly because they are attractive, even if Erlin's face really is a mask hiding a shifting mass of quicksilver, and Durian electrocutes people whenever she concentrates on them too hard.)
If the Merlefrost interceded I might very well take the Corpse, because at least she's somewhat attractive, even half-rotted, and I might talk her into some sort of bargain involving the Earth reduced to ashes and blood. Merle would take quite a bit of pleasure in the opportunity to eat a mortal limb by limb and just freeze my lips off if I got too loud for his liking.
...I'm gonna have nightmares about that now. Spiffy.
I am overusing ellipses and dashes. Woe is me. |
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Oct. 12th, 2005 @ 03:36 pm
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I don't normally post these things, but paired with my previous post I had to.
( Cut like an emo kid's wrists. )
I also made a NaNo journal over here. Why? I don't know. I wanted to, and it's free, so I did.
Well, that's a lie. I did it because the Gods of Procrastination inevitably finds something to distract me with when I should be reading Galileo for my class in three hours. (It's only seventy pages. I can do that in an hour, tops. Faster if I skim and/or skip the introduction.)
That's a lie, too. I distract myself quite well without the help of any deities. |
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Screw being politically correct:
I am pro-abortion.
In my ideal dictatorship, the vast majority of pregnancies would be terminated before the first trimester.
Actually, in my ideal dictatorship the entire population would be sterilized as soon as they hit puberty. If someone wanted to become a parent, they would need to pass a battery of tests to assure their mental, emotional, and physical fitness for bearing and/or raising a child. They would have to explain to a jury of psychologists, child health care specialists, and various other Unspecified People exactly what they expected when they became a parent, and how they thought a child would impact their lives. The prospective parent would have other parents describe in detail how parenthood changed them, the sacrifices in time, money, and all around being their own person they had to make, and then a finance manager would discuss their budget for the next ten years. After this, they'd have to spend a minimum of six months taking care of others' children, from infant-aged up through high school. If they passed all of that, the prospective parent (if female) would be given the option to have an egg harvested and fertilized, then grown outside of her body in lieu of an uterine pregnancy.
Adoption would be only slightly easier.
Sexual orientation, religion (provided the child would be ensured their own choice and informed in an unbiased manner about other religions), the presence of a long-term partner, race, physical appearance, and gender would not matter.
I predict instances of child abuse would go down drastically, and we could maybe solve this whole "overpopulation killing the Earth" problem within a generation or two.
Fantasies of world domination aside, I'm willing to accept that for some incomprehensible reason some women actually want to have children.
Okay, fine, I guess it's their choice to pop 'em out. I'll reluctantly accept a pro-choice stance, provided that my right to terminate any unwanted parasites is preserved.
I am absolutely serious when I say I'd rather kill myself than play host to a fetus. There is no way, short of immobilizing me and drugging me into compliance for the entire nine months, that I would not find some way to end my life or induce a miscarriage. And after those nine months are over? Remember, kids, Rippy the Razor says "It's down the block, not across the street."
I will not bring another life into this world. Fuck the whole "but you're a womaaaaan, you haaaaaaave to want the baaaaaaaaaaabies."
No, the fetus has no more rights than a tapeworm. It is a parasite to be removed. Yes, I am just as psychotic in my way as the Christian fundie anti-abortionists (they are not pro-life, since they stop caring about the fetus once it's popped out, but that's a whole 'nother rant). No, I'm not going to change my mind. No, posting pictures of "cute innocent widdle baybees" in my blog will not make me repent and run off to find someone to impregnate me. Children horrify me. Babies make me want to run away (remember that not-so-subliminal urge to kill toddlers?). Screaming babies do not inspire any empathy or desire to help, they make me want to find a chainsaw and really give them something to scream about.
Right. This outpouring of bile brought to you by Tabi's frustration with Xtian attempts to outlaw abortion. You can find the link yourselves. |
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I eavesdrop on conversations shamelessly. I never butt in, but I do listen and take mental notes, because damn do people talk about some crazy stuff when they don't think anyone can hear them.*
And then there are days like today, when I hear things that tempt me to walk over and slap someone, and the only reason I stop myself is because a) I'm a meek little wimp, and b) I don't know the whole story, no matter how much I've heard.
Picture me sitting all by my lonesome at the cafeteria, munching on a bagel, waiting for my tea to attain the consistency and color of tar, and absently turning over possible novel titles in my head.
The gaggle of girls behind me burst into screamy laughter, and my ever-vigilant ears tune themselves in.
They're talking about "scary" things they've seen, and I'm getting ready to start ignoring them again when one girl says:
"Like, the strangest thing I saw yesterday was when this man fell down."
More laughter. This is a good bagel, think I.
"No, really. He was this old man, and he was running, and then, like, he just toppled forward and his face hit the ground and rubbed against it, and his feet went over his head. Like, y'know? He looked like he'd fallen asleep, only his face was in the ground, and me and [name] just stood there and looked at him. Y'know? And then we went to the movie theatre, cuz we didn't want to miss-"
The bagel no longer tastes very good.
What kind of fucking excuse for a human being are you if you don't go over to help someone in trouble? It shouldn't even require thought, you should just react.
Example:
On my orchestra tour in Spain, one of the chaperons spent some of her time in a wheelchair, I'm not sure of the exact reason why. One time she fell out, and I saw her. I ran to help, and so did everyone else around me. Nobody went on walking, nobody looked to see that others were helping and decided they didn't have to.
How can we claim to be above animals in any way if we lose our empathy for each other?
I could have understood, maybe, if the girl was alone and thought that the man might have set a trap that played on a human's desire to help, but by her account she was in a group of three.
The Bard community claims it's all for helping others, for social rights, for liberty, for all that good stuff that makes us humans rather than animals. Yet in the few weeks I've been here I've seen so many instances of this thoughtless cruelty, often paired in the same breath with mindless platitudes about justice and helping others.
Fuck. I don't know what else to say. I feel heartsick, and want nothing more than to curl up and go back to sleep.
* Unlike my amazing Schnozz o'Doom, I'm pretty sure that my hearing is fairly normal, so I'm a bit surprised at why people actually talk about some of the things they talk about within my earshot. Do I pay attention to my surroundings more than other people? Do people really not care if strangers hear them comparing their boyfriends' penis sizes? Do I just have a radar for catching bizarre or traumatizing statements? |
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Number of stories screaming in my head like someone with a gut wound: 7
Hours of sleep: 6
Number of people I want to kill: 5 and rising
Cups of tea consumed: 4
Days the migraine from hell has lasted: 3
Meals eaten: 2
I got nuthin for one, though.
( In other news, I've assigned a vengeful bitch the position of Head Honcho in my latest pantheon. )
Um. Yeah. She's psycho, and I have a bunch more junk about her wandering around in my head, but I'm too lazy to type it out. And with this ineloquent ending, I shall leave to go and write more of The Alchemy of Flesh, which features scary creativity demons who literally eat people from the inside out. (And I swear, I did not realize how disgustingly crass a metaphor that was until after it'd bounced around in my head for nearly a week.)
Oct. 9th, 2005 @ 06:55 pm
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So. I always tell myself I won't do memes, and then I do, and then I feel stupid because I have to post and annoy other people with them, and.
Right.
( So it goes under a cut. )
In other news, Bard has eaten my soul, and it tells me that I do not, in fact, taste anything like chicken. My FYSEM prof is one of those people who both looks and sees, my Italian professor climbs on chairs and tables, one of the big, black, dread-locked guys living across the hall is terrified of spiders to the point of throwing girly screaming fits, and my roommate was talking about Medieval Japanese woodcut porn last night.
Good times, good times.
Oct. 7th, 2005 @ 12:52 pm
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I need to study for my Italian test on Monday, read Plato's Symposium, also for Monday, think about the section of my FYSEM class I'm teaching next Monday, and most importantly make reeds for the concert tomorrow (ohgodI'mgonnadie).
Why then, is there a story yammering in my head involving gorecrows who inspire people to such extents they go insane, and decidedly non-angsty snake shapeshifters?
I say "I am not going to write you now."
And the damn thing plops itself down and says OH YES YOU WILL.
Just like that. All in caps.
I am MAKING REEDS. Yes indeedy I am. I am not thinking about the possible ways artists might use gorecrows. Or scientists. Or politicians.
Stupid story.
Sep. 10th, 2005 @ 04:29 pm
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You know, I wouldn't mind the person in the room next to me singing along with her recordings if she wasn't consistently out of tune and tempo with said recordings.
It makes me shudder, literally. A completely visceral reaction that I can't help and disrupts my thought process completely because my ear insists that it's WRONGWRONGWRONGOMGKILLITNOW.
That wasn't what I was going to write about.
I was going to write about the completely and utterly amazing tea I had today. The label said it was "Aromatic Earl Grey", and it was absofuckinglutely amazing. If I wasn't morally opposed to exclamation points, there'd be an obscene number tacked onto the end of that last sentence.
No, really. We're talking orgasm-inducing tea here. Slightly spicy with mellow, almost fruity undertones and only a hint of bitterness, the latter mostly due to my steeping it for close to 15 minutes (I usually steep black teas for 5-10). More than that, five or so minutes after drinking it I thought "Hmm, I feel awake."
Five minutes later, "Whoa, I'm awake!"
Not the nasty jittery-must-act overalertness I get from coffee, but a nice, sustainable sense of energy and attention.
I need more of this tea. Now.
The other amazing taste-sensation I've had here involves the apples. Bard is right next to a bunch of orchards, and out of curiosity I tried one of the apples brought in from a local grower.
It was the perfect apple. I can say without hesitation that it was one of the most amazing sensations I've ever had, and gets onto my top five flavors.
I had another. It was just as good.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) rauduskoivu, you have to try the local apples. The ones I had were the rounded red-and-green ones, not the darker red type.
So. Good.
Dammit I want more tea, but all I have left is two bags of peppermint, and then I'm back to the swill they offer at Kline.
But I ordered more tea from online, including a "wintermint" blend, some sort of fruit-black mix, and some good ol' green. Loose tea rather than bagged for the most part, and I splurged and bought a new strainer-and-mug combination to go with it, since I don't want to cut up a stocking again, and I left my old ghetto strainer at home.
Hee. Tea makes me happy.
Oh yes, and why the hell is it that people think I don't swear? I said "asshole", which isn't even a proper insult, much less profanity, in front of one of the other conservatory kids and they stopped, stared, and said "Wow, I never thought I'd hear you swear."
I have known these people for all of a month. What is it about me that makes it seem like I wouldn't swear? I'll admit to preferring more creative insults (off the top of my head: you have all the intellectual and social appeal of the slime between the toes of a leprous ape), but I still use the tried-and-true when I feel the situation calls for it.
Sep. 6th, 2005 @ 09:54 pm
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| » Haikus and Hair. Haikus about Hair |
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My hair is dead weight,
It crushes my skull; my brain
Is suffocating.
I've wanted to shave my head for around a year now.
My parents have always talked me out of it.
My parents aren't here now.
Aug. 22nd, 2005 @ 11:19 pm
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Repression, according to modern psychology, is supposed to be a myth.
So why can I not remember anything of my life before I moved to Chicago at age 12? We start laying down permanent memories sometime after age two, so it's not that I was too young. The ten years of elementary school are one big blank, with the occasional random flash. I remember certain facts, like the names of my teachers, but anything beyond that just isn't there.
My parents tell me that I was bullied constantly, and that they "worried for my sanity" (though it can't have been that bad, since they never pulled me from school), but I can't recall any of it. What I do remember tells me that I was an utter brat, though my parents deny that - probably because they're my parents.
I don't know. I'm confused.
Is my past part of the reason I have so much trouble trusting people now? Or is it just because I'm a natural misanthrope? I don't want to go around blaming all of my current psychological problems on events that I can't remember. That makes it too easy to ignore my own responsibility towards my future, no matter what's happened before.
I'm babbling. Ignore me.
Aug. 14th, 2005 @ 11:27 am
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All right, so I lied about being incommunicado. Wednesdays are less busy than the others, and I'm postponing my homework to get some of my thoughts down.
In list format. Because I like lists.
Things I Like About Bard, in No Particular Order:
- Going to Blum, the music building, and practicing when nobody else is there
- My roommate, who is wonderfully nice and shares a similar view towards quiet-while-studying, and is not afraid to tell the kids across the hall to shut up when I'm being all non-confrontational
- The campus, which is gorgeous and big and forces me to exercise through the simple act of walking between class, dorm, and practice room
- The other Bardians, who all seem like terribly nice people, even if some of them do smoke
- My L&T professor, an utterly adorable French woman who teaches Art History and gets really excited over essays
- Reading essays that contain words like "telos"
- Not knowing what to call the Dean of the conservatory, so that talking about him goes something like "Doctor-Martin-Professor-Dean-Bob"
- We're getting a gouging machine for the college (really expensive machine used to prepare the cane used to make oboe reeds). And an English horn!
- Everybody is excited almost to the point of mania about the new conservatory program
- The Fischer Concert Hall. It looks like a gust of wind made visible
- The swingset outside that sounds like seagulls crying when people are on it. I really hope they don't oil it any time soon
Things I Do Not Like About Bard:
- There are ticks with lyme disease apparently all over
- There are also apparently rabid skunks wandering around
- There were some very brutal rapes on campus a few years back, and that anyone can just come on campus and do anything
- Three quarters of the people on campus seem to smoke. Ew
- My cats are not here
- I don't have enough time to do everything I want to
- I've been getting five hours of sleep a night and still can't fit everything in
- Everybody seems so much better at writing than I am
- Having to read everything we write aloud, usually a few minutes after we've written it
I'll think of more things later. Or maybe not.
I need to do my homework.
One day, once all of the hectic moving in and settling down stuff is done, I'm going to take a day to go exploring the campus. No practicing, no homework, just walking around, probably alone since I like being alone, and seeing the sights I've heard other students talk about but haven't had a chance to see for myself.
Aug. 10th, 2005 @ 07:06 pm
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Hi, I'm not dead (though I almost feel like it), just at college, I promise. I've been in Spain on an orchestra tour for the past two weeks, and now I'm at my very-early-and-intense orientation. I won't be updating much for the next few weeks, not until I've settled in at least. I'll still be checking my e-mail, and I might or might not still be reading your blog, but I probably won't reply to anything besides a dire suicide-threat emergency.
Um. Yeah. See/Read you in a few weeks?
Aug. 8th, 2005 @ 12:37 pm
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Played a concert at Ravinia today, for all the little kiddies (you might have usher-ed it, Connie). Not that they appreciate the classical music, or have any idea of proper behavior. Howler monkeys on crack would have been a better audience, I swear.
Anyway. Since we had our dress rehearsal right before the concert I ended up just packing concert clothes to change into, since there's very little more uncomfortable than playing a concert in clothes already sticky with sweat. We were (nearly) outside, it was humid, and you sweat a lot playing under stage lights.
Seeing as I have an entire wardrobe in black just for concerts, I simply grabbed a top, a pair of pants, and socks, threw it in a bag, and was ready to go.
Dress rehearsal goes well, it's all fun and happy. And then I go to change.
"Hey," I think, somewhere between bemused and aghast. "I don't remember this neckline being quite so... deep."
And lo, I stared into the void and it did stare back at me.
I swear I could hear my neckline shouting "Mayday! Mayday! We're too low! Pull up, pull up!"
I COULD SEE CLEAVAGE, people, and it SCARED ME.
This is why the Tabicetas does not often wear v-necks.
The trauma is not worth the feeling pretty.
Jun. 12th, 2005 @ 09:28 pm
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| » The Chipmunk that Knew No Fear |
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Remind me to never complain about boredom. All too often the universe takes upon itself the task of amusing me, and the results are always freaky and sometimes tragic.
( Enter the Fearless Chipmunk )
* When the Internet is down and there’s naught else to do, I like to try archaic things, including but not limited to: calligraphy, paper-making, origami, constructing furniture out of twigs and hot glue, and book-binding
** It is perfectly natural for cats to fight for dominance in any one territory – e.i. house – where there is more than one. They maintain their hierarchy through these regular fights. It’s not like I’m encouraging gladiatorial battles to the death, here.
*** Well, ‘oh no’ was the general gist of what I said. You may imagine for yourself the correct substitute.
Jun. 8th, 2005 @ 04:16 pm
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I have decided that I shall be better about keeping this journal-thing.
Or perhaps not.
So I haven't really decided anything, but making statements is fun.
And since kelles said earlier that she wanted to see some of my writing, I oblige.
I'm such an obliging person.
Ha! Another statement.
I win at life, except for when I don't.
As a warning to the unwary, I would simply like to say that I cannot actually write, I just pretend I can. Don't actually go expecting anything of quality from me.
( Feldrin is a funny, obsessive man with a bad habit of getting into Interesting Situations )
I have also decided that I need to stop starting sentences with 'and' and using so many parentheses. My fondness for both borders on madness or, worse, grammatical incorectness. What folly, to be dragged down by punctuation and a coordinating conjuction.
Jun. 6th, 2005 @ 09:21 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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So apparently I graduated high school.
Also apparently the oboe section from the orchestra screamed for me when I walked up to get my pseudo-diploma (they don't give us our real ones on the stage). I did not hear, as I was concentrating frantically on not tripping and breaking my neck or my dignity. Not only did my mother force me into high heels, the whole 'walking without dying' thing was horribly complicated by the addition of a skirt. Why must I wear dresses simply because I don't have the proper set of sexual equipment? I have legs, and they want their freedom.
In other news, I was digging through my old drawers (cabinets, not underwear) today and came across some of my old writing stuff.
Hi-LARIOUS. Comedic gold, I'm telling you.
I'd have to kill anyone else who looked at them. (spikedrumpunch, you are a far braver person than I to display your early literary efforts.)
My characters back then were just as psychotic as they are now, though I only remember coming up with one of them. Lessee... we have a schizophrenic, anthropomorphic catlord who lives in a spaceship, talks to himself, conquers planets for fun, somehow gets his power from plates of amber installed in kneeplates (don't ask me how, I evidently didn't get around to explaining it to myself). Then we have the gryphon shapeshifter who wants to kill her parents and is somehow related to a race of vampiric, hermaphroditic spiders. Second-to-last is the psychic who controls her talent by drinking and drugging herself into a stupor, occasionally turning random strangers into mindless vegetables so that she could steal their money and further melt her brain (I cannot believe I was making this shit up in seventh grade). And after that we get the only character I remember creating, an assassin born without nails on her left hand, who got them replaced with steel hooks.
There was also a paragraph I wrote sophomore year, forgettable except for the ending line and the use of "wolf-breath" to describe the smell of tension. And what looks suspiciously like lyrics to a pop song, although I probably was under the (very much mistaken) impression that it was a poem.
My handwriting hasn't gotten much neater since then, sadly.
I had lots to say earlier, but I kept on putting off updating this thing in favor of practicing and writing about people killing other people by spinning metal wires out of their fingertips and mucking with other people's memories. Useful stuff like that.
You know why being an oboist is great? Because they let us have knives. Knives sharp enough that you cut yourself by touching the edge. In fact, they tell us that we have to have these knives, and that we have to keep them this sharp, otherwise we're failures as oboists.
Makes air-travel a bitch, though. I always have to pack a bag.
I ramble. Whee!
Jun. 5th, 2005 @ 07:51 pm
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| » Further proof that I have no life |
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I'm 603 cranes towards my next thousand.
I can fit all of them in the palm of one hand.
Of course, the smallest crane in the world was made from a piece of foil one millimeter (or was it centimeter? I forget) on each side. It was folded under a microscope with a surgical needle by a physician who was trying to learn how to sew individual blood vessels.
I don't think I can beat that.
Yet.
May. 25th, 2005 @ 10:10 pm
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| » Amazing how quickly one's mood can change |
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"You and mom are the kind of people who make problems; dad and I fix them."
My brother said this to me before slamming the garage door on his way to a 6:30 dress rehearsal he forgot about up until half an hour ago.
I was left gaping. I felt like I'd been slapped - first the shock, then the pain.
Spent the last five minutes crying and screaming. Throat's quite raw by now.
How dare he? How the fuck dare he, that maggot-brained little brat?
I cannot stand being compared to my mother, but ignoring that, how does he dare open the hypocritical shithole he calls a mouth and say that I am the type of person who makes problems?
Is it my fucking fault that he didn't know how he was getting to his dress rehearsal, that he simply assumed that someone would be there to take him? Did I personally ensure that there wasn't a car in the garage? Or do I make problems because I brought up flaws in his plan to ride his bike to the concert - that he couldn't ride in concert clothes, and that his bassoon would upset his balance? Does this mean that I'm a 'problem maker' rather than a solver simply because I try to think through a plan before implementing it?
And if I'm a problem maker, then why do I have four awards to my name, two mentions in the Trib, straight A's in all my classes, and a place at a good college? You'd think people would see my inherent flaws and run screaming.
Fuck. It's childish of me to bring up external 'proof'.
I'm terrified that he's right.
May. 25th, 2005 @ 06:25 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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Why is it that my life goes along in an altogether dreary fashion, and then a cornucopia of bizarre things happen right on top of one another? All of these things happened this past week.
( A series of strange occurrences, presented in list format )
Done with high school! Yay! Gratuitous exclamation point abuse!
Oh yes, updated the Netherplane. Have some of Nulmiril's pretty pictures up in the Fauna section.
May. 25th, 2005 @ 05:40 pm
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